#pbdecember

The second Will walks into the building, Connor rushes to wrap him up in his coat. His teeth are chattering, his lips tinted a deep shade of purple and goosebumps all over his bare arms.

“Christ, Halstead. Maggie, get me some heat packs?” He pulls Will to a treatment room and grabs every blanket he can to put around his shoulders. “It’s ten degrees outside, why the hell aren’t you wearing a jacket?”

“G-got s-s-s-stolen.”

Maggie arrives with the heat packs and wedges them under Will’s arms, against his neck, between his legs as Connor makes him lay down properly on the gurney. He seems small like this. Shaking, struggling to breathe properly with how little control he has over his tremors, definitely not getting enough oxygen to his hands and feet. He won’t be starting his shift any time soon, if he even winds up working today at all. As he takes Will’s temperature himself, he decides that he’ll buy him a new warm coat. Some mittens, maybe, and a scarf too. Even a hat. Just to make sure he doesn’t have to deal with this in the future.

“Connor, still with me?”

He blinks and meets Will’s eyes. The thermometer beeps. About ninety five. Low enough to worry, but high enough not to panic. He sets it aside and cups Will’s face like it’ll help warm him up. His cheeks are cold. His nose must be too, maybe more so. But the only thing Connor knows for sure is that he finds himself leaning in and finding out that Will’s lips are icy. But they warm up quickly, and he shivers too at cold fingers working their way under his shirt. 

When they separate, Will’s cheeks have taken on a pink tone, which is at least some level of improvement from deathly pale. Connor kisses them each as well before pulling back and forcing himself to take a deep breath so no one else will be able to see how giddy he is.

Boxes and piles of things filled the room, and if it weren’t so well organised, Liv thought she might have cried. Her entire life - almost everything she owned - was sorted and packed up, and her room was starting to feel empty, impersonal. She knew things would feel more settled once she moved into her dorm at college, but until then she was stuck in a sort of limbo, where nowhere felt enough like home.

As she continued sorting through her things a pit began to form in her stomach. What if going to college wasn’t the right choice? What if she wasn’t ready yet? She was staying in Chicago - what if she should have chosen to go somewhere further away? The more she thought, the more overwhelmed she became, and before long she was sitting motionless, staring at the piles around her, unable to do anything else.

“Olivia, honey? Are you okay?”

Sarah’s voice was enough to drag her out of her thoughts, and she nodded. She was okay, and if she wasn’t now, she was going to be later. She had to be.

“I found this box under your bed. There might be some stuff in here you want to bring with you to college?”

Liv glanced at the box and scoffed. “Mom, please. I didn’t even know that existed until, like, two seconds ago. There can’t be anything in there important enough for me to take.”

“I think we should take a look, just in case.”

She didn’t have time to protest before her mom had removed the lid and was rummaging through its contents, occasionally placing something on the floor next to her. It was mostly old childhood stuff - certificates, a couple of rosettes from when she still played hockey, and some photos dating back to before her sisters were born. Nothing that special.

She picked up the photo closest to her, running her fingers along its smooth surface. It was an old one, probably one of the first, judging by how young she looked. She was sitting on her dad’s lap - Crockett’s - and staring straight ahead at the camera, oblivious to the way he was looking at her. His smile was so wide, so genuine, and there was pure joy radiating from his face. It was like he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was.

“How did this stuff get here? I haven’t seen any of it in years.”

“Between the four of us we’ve been… collecting stuff. Ava was the one who suggested we put it all in one place. We’ve been sneaking it in when you’re out.”

Liv smiled to herself, shuffling the other pictures around. There was one for her first day of each grade, from first right up until twelfth, all dated with Sarah’s curly handwriting. Of course she’d be the one behind the camera.

Sarah kept looking through the box, and after a couple of minutes finally found what she’d been looking for. She handed a sheet of paper to Liv, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mom, wha-”

Sarah motioned for her to take a look at what she was holding, and she did, still confused. It was just a shitty kid’s drawing. Until she looked closer.

There were words at the top - messy, child’s handwriting, but still legible.

“hApy cristmAs by lolly r”

“Oh my god…” Her voice trailed off as she took in the rest of the picture.

Five figures. Two men, two women, and one dark-haired girl standing between them. A Christmas tree to the left, a house in the opposite corner, and a purple stethoscope.

“You kept this?”

“Of course. It was our first Christmas all together, and it was so special for you. Mainly because your dads got you enough presents to make up for all the lost time, but-” She chuckled, taking another peek at the picture in her daughter’s hands.

“You were always an artist, even back then. And now look at you! Off to art school!”

She placed a hand on Liv’s face, gently brushing one of her curls away.

“I’m so proud of you. I always have been, you know that, right? We all are.”

“I’m not kissing you like that.”

Connor glances up, trying to figure out what it is Will’s on about now when he’s trying to make a diagnosis for the patient in four. He doesn’t even dignify it with a response. That, of course, turns out to be the wrong thing to do. The next thing he knows, Will’s holding his face in one hand and rubbing something onto his lips with the other. It’s thick, wet. Not quite chapstick. He glances at the counter and discovers it’s vaseline.

“You need to actually wear chapstick. Your lips look like they might start bleeding.”

Will lets go of him. Maybe he’s right about that, but vaseline? It’s weird, honestly, and it feels like there’s a layer of rubber on top of his lips. He rolls his eyes and tries to focus back in on the patient’s chart. Unfortunately, his concentration is broken and all he can think about now is how strange his mouth feels and the fact that it’s fucking vaseline, and he winds up grabbing  a tissue and wiping it off. Still, there’s some left.

“Halstead,” he says, waiting for Will to come back. He looks pretty pleased with himself. “You can’t just grab my face and put vaseline on me.”

“Wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself.”

He sighs. He loves Will, knows that Will loves him too and wants the best for him. When he has the flu, Will makes him chicken noodle soup (or rather, heats it up from a can). When he forgets his scarf, Will wraps his own around his neck and kisses his cheeks. When he doesn’t drink enough water, Will coaxes him to the doctor’s lounge for a break. It can just be a little overwhelming, especially in moments like this.

“I get that, but please don’t grab my face and lubricate me at work.”

Many miles away, two different men kneel beside their beds with heads bowed, eyes shut. Mirrored positions, one facing southeast, the other northwest. Really, they face each other as closely as they can manage without being able to see them face to face.

Connor Rhodes’ home is cold and empty, devoid of the love from someone to share the king sized bed with. He turned up the heat earlier, but he’s still cold. So cold. It’s just him, on his knees and remembering softer memories of a warm body holding him tight, heartbeat steady and voice rough with sleep in the most intimate of moments.

Will Halstead’s home is similarly devoid of life, and although a smaller space, loneliness fills every corner. His elbows rest on the edge of a twin mattress, ratty comforter a little scratchy, as drafts sneak through cracks where the windows meet the walls. He’s been shivering since he got home, and he knows he would be warmer with someone to hold. But he’s alone.

Cities, states apart, they both pray for a return to the happiness and love that they never experienced before, and fear they never will again. How can anything compare now to the way it feels to be kissed until the rest of the world disappears, and to forget every other thing in the universe save for the person in bed beside them to chase away the cold. 

More than anything, they wish they were in each other’s arms again. Connor begs any deity that might be listening to deliver him back into Will’s arms, while Will prays to a God who may not love him any longer to bring Connor home again, even if only for a second.

Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the movies, but he was sure it hadn’t felt like this. It was probably on a date in high school, when he was more focused on making out in the back row than choosing snacks or actually watching the film. He’d never had time to notice the way the smell of popcorn was just slightly too strong and the royalty-free music bounced off the walls and rang in his ears. 

Everything was so different as an adult, but it also felt surprisingly normal. Here he was, with Crockett and Lolly, doing normal family things, and he was so grateful. Having Lolly with them almost made things easier, as if it secured what he and Crockett were. They weren’t just two guys spending time together. Crockett was his boyfriend, and they were in love. Even just thinking that was freeing, and Ethan began to relax. 

“You can get whatever you want, okay sweetheart?”

Crockett’s voice a few feet away quickly put a stop to that. He was watching Lolly as she stared at the candy in front of her, deep in concentration. She was dressed as Elsa, ready to see Frozen II, and Crockett was crouched on the floor next to her, waiting for her to make her decision. It would have been cute if not for Crockett’s promise.

“Can I get a blue icee?”

Lolly had chosen and was now standing, clutching three boxes of candy stacked on top of each other, a wide-eyed look on her face.

“Of course, darlin’.“ Crockett placed a hand gently on her shoulder and walked with her to the register as Ethan looked on in horror. 

He could already hear Sarah yelling at him as he made his way over to the pair, and he wondered if it would be better to just cut his losses and run, and let Crockett deal with the consequences.

“Hey babe,” he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Three boxes of candy for a six-year-old? Sarah will kill you.”

“One of them’s for me.” Crockett pulled away slightly, smiling innocently at Ethan. 

He shook his head, moving his arm so he could take Crockett’s hand in his.

“It’s your funeral.”

Four weeks of leave, and Sarah still has yet to feel even the slightest bit better than she did at the start. Most nights she still has nightmares- when she sleeps, that is- and she can’t go more than a few days in a row without having a panic attack. She’s gained a few pounds, and taken to wearing nothing but sweatpants and oversized shirts while sitting in a nest of blankets and pillows as various reruns hum over the TV.

She knows she’s being dramatic, and that the longer she stews like this, the worse everything gets. Ava is tired and stressed and shouldn’t have to come home from a sixteen hour shift to take care of Sarah. People have stopped texting her to check in, even Dr. Charles. She thinks it’s been a few days since she showered. Honestly, she’s just tired, and every single action just further exhausts her.

It could be two in the morning, or two in the afternoon, when Ava comes home. Time doesn’t exist anymore, with the curtains drawn and the phone never answered. Sarah’s been blankly watching some old comedy show that’s vaguely problematic for as long as her memory can answer her, and she wonders whether it’s been awhile since Ava left in the first place. She has no way of knowing. 

Instead of trying to engage her, today, Ava crawls into bed and opens her arms. The quiet, the peace, the acceptance, it eases so many aches that Sarah’s been struggling with, if only for a moment. She manages to scoot close enough to rest her head on Ava’s chest, nose filled with the scent of antiseptic and perfume. Held. The arms around her feel safe. For a moment, the outside world can’t hurt her. No patients with guns or absent killer fathers, just herself and her wife, clinging to each other without regard for anyone else. It, like sobbing, feels cathartic and achy in a new sort of way that at least puts a dent in the emptiness Sarah’s been unable to escape since her father finally passed.

It felt like the stars had aligned for this dinner. They hadn’t eaten together as the five of them for well over a week, and now suddenly they were all here. Sarah was the only one that was supposed to be on shift, but after a little persuasion, Dr Charles had given in and allowed her to stay home. He'd learnt the hard way how important family time was, especially around the holidays, and saw no reason why Sarah should have to learn that way as well.

So now, here she was, two days before Christmas, with everyone she cared about most in the world under one roof. Ava was curled up next to her on the couch, covered in a thick tartan blanket. She’d put on some shitty Christmas film, and as much as she refused to admit it, she’d been completely drawn into it within ten minutes, shushing Sarah every time she spoke over the characters.  

Sarah moved closer to Ava, resting her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder as she listened to the voices coming from the kitchen. Crockett was in there with Ethan, teaching him how to make yet another complex dish, and by the sounds of it, things weren’t going well. Every time Crockett had to correct a ‘simple’ mistake, his voice got more high-pitched, and Sarah was beginning to think Ethan was doing it on purpose at this point just to see how high he could go.

 But above all of this was Sarah’s favourite sound: a child’s laughter. 

Her child’s laughter. 

Her daughter. 

She was six now, the perfect age in Sarah’s eyes. Old enough to engage in all the Christmas activities, but young enough to still see the magic of the holiday, something Sarah had almost given up on. It had all changed when Lolly was born though, and more and more Sarah found herself looking at the world the way her daughter would, instead of through the cynical lens her parents had taught her to use. Simply put, she was the best thing that had happened to Sarah.

Hello everyone! I've decided to do a writing challenge for the month of December, with each day having one word for a prompt. I've done my best to not favor any one holiday while also including some words that mean something for various celebrations. Anyone is welcome to participate in whatever capacity they wish!